Page 34 of Cheshire

I pressed the pencil tip to the paper and took a shaky breath. It was time to face these demons head-on, one stroke at a time.

I drew a tentative line across the page, unsure at first. But as the pencil moved, I felt something stirring deep inside me. The emotions I’d been trying so damn hard to suppress came bubbling to the surface.

Rabbit’s pencil scratched against his paper, the sound oddly soothing. He didn’t push me to talk, just let me find my own rhythm.

My hand started moving faster, the lines growing bolder. I poured my confusion, my guilt, my longing onto the page. The sketch took shape -- a heart, torn down the middle, one half dark and twisted, the other soft and glowing.

“That’s it,” Rabbit murmured, glancing at my drawing. “Let it flow out of you. There’s no right or wrong in art.”

I swallowed hard, my vision blurring with unshed tears. The pencil felt like an extension of my soul, giving voice to the war raging inside me.

“I don’t know what to do, Rabbit,” I whispered, my hand never stopping its frenzied dance across the paper. “I’m so confused. It’s tearing me up.”

Rabbit nodded, his own pencil still moving. “I know that feeling all too well. Like you’re being ripped in two, yeah?”

I nodded, blinking back tears. The sketch pad was a mirror, reflecting my inner turmoil in stark black and white.

“Just keep drawing,” Rabbit said. “Let the art do the talking. We’ll figure this out together.”

And so I did. I poured my heart onto the page, letting the pencil lead the way. The longer I drew, the calmer I felt.

I sneaked a glance at Rabbit’s drawing -- a shadowy figure, hunched and alone, with a single beam of light breaking through the darkness.

“Art has been my therapy for years,” he said, his eyes never leaving the page. “When the anxiety gets to be too much, when the club’s problems weigh me down or nightmares from the past raise their heads, I draw. Once I’m finished, it’s like I can breathe again.”

I nodded, understanding all too well. The pressure in my chest eased with each stroke of the pencil, the knot in my stomach slowly unraveling.

“I’ve never been good at talking about my feelings,” I admitted, shading in the jagged edges of the broken heart. “But this… this feels right.”

Rabbit’s lips quirked in a small smile. “That’s the beauty of art, Eliza. It speaks when words fail us. It’s a language all its own.”

We lapsed into comfortable silence, the only sounds the scratching of pencils and our steady breathing. The kitchen faded away, and for a moment, it was just us and the art, lost in a world of our own making.

As I added the final touches to my sketch, I felt a sense of catharsis wash over me. The drawing was raw, painful, but it was also honest. It was a piece of my soul, laid bare on the page.

“Thank you, Rabbit,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “For this, for everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He reached across the table, his hand warm and reassuring on mine. “You’re not alone. Never forget that.”

And as I looked into his eyes, seeing the understanding and compassion shining there, I realized I’d found my place in this world, here with these tough men.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the words I was about to say. “It’s just… I felt so confused, Rabbit. About Cheshire, about everything.”

Rabbit set down his pencil, giving me his full attention. “What about Cheshire, Eliza?”

I bit my lip, the guilt twisting in my gut. “I know I shouldn’t feel this way, not after what my father did. But when I’m with Cheshire, it’s like nothing else matters. He makes me feel safe, understood. Desired.” My cheeks warmed. “Then I think about the lives my father has destroyed, and I hate myself for being this happy.”

Rabbit’s eyes softened with empathy. “Eliza, listen to me. Your feelings for Cheshire… They aren’t wrong. You can’t help who you love. And after everything you’ve been through, you’ve more than earned the right to find happiness wherever and whenever you can. Your father’s sins aren’t your own.”

“But how could I love him, Rabbit? How could I feel anything but disgust for myself, knowing what my father did to the people in this town?” My voice cracked, the tears threatening to spill over. “I may not have known about it, had no power to stop it, but I feel tainted because I share the same blood as that man.”

Rabbit leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I’ll say it once more. What your father did, that was on him. Not you. You weren’t responsible for his actions, Eliza. You hear me? You need to let that shit go.”

I nodded, a single tear escaping down my cheek.

“And as for Cheshire,” Rabbit continued. “He’s a good man. He cares about you, Eliza. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

I sniffed, wiping away the tear with the back of my hand. “It’s so hard, Rabbit. It feels like a betrayal to everyone else who’s suffered at my father’s hands.”

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